The dust from the sandstorm had finally settled, leaving the air crisp and dry. The Flygon hovered above us, its red compound eyes fixed on us with an intensity that felt almost human. It didn't fly away into the deep desert as I had expected. Instead, it circled once, let out a melodic, vibrating hum, and then flew slowly toward a narrow fissure in the red rock canyon walls.
It paused at the entrance, looking back and flapping its wings expectantly.
"It's waiting," Clara whispered, her hand resting on her Poké Balls. "It wants us to follow."
"It seems we've earned a guide," I agreed. "We'd be fools to turn down the help of a local Dragon-type. Let's move."
We followed the Mystic Pokémon through the narrow strait. The red sandstone walls rose high on either side, casting long, cooling shadows. The path was winding and steep, leading us away from the open dunes and into the jagged heart of the rocky badlands that bordered the desert.
After ten minutes of hiking, the narrow pass abruptly widened. We stepped out onto a secluded, bowl-shaped plateau hidden between three sheer cliffs.
"Oh, wow," Clara gasped. "Look at them all."
The plateau was crowded—far too crowded for a natural habitat. It wasn't just the Trapinch family.
Huddled in the shade of the cliffs were groups of Numel, their humps steaming nervously as they shifted their weight. Near the back, digging anxiously into the shallow dust, was a small herd of Hippopotas, kicking up clouds of sand. Dozens of Trapinch and Vibrava buzzed around the edges, creating a chaotic, low-level drone of noise.
"This isn't a gathering," I observed, my brow furrowing as I took in the scene. "This is a refugee camp."
Clara walked forward slowly, careful not to startle a nearby Numel. "Why are they all here? These Pokémon usually have their own territories. Numel stick to the volcanic paths; Hippopotas like the deep sand."
"They've been pushed out," I said, piecing together the behavior of the Skarmory and Magneton we had just fought. "That steel flock wasn't just hunting. They were patrolling. The Steel-type Pokémon have aggressively expanded their territory, forcing these Ground and Fire types into this confined area."
"But why?" Clara asked, looking at the distressed Pokémon. "Why would they suddenly become so aggressive?"
I recalled the frantic coordination of the Magnetons. "Magnetic fields," I speculated. "Magneton and Skarmory are highly sensitive to electromagnetic currents. They navigate and communicate using them. If there's a disruption—a sudden spike in magnetic energy or a man-made anomaly—it could drive them into a frenzy. It makes them enraged, territorial, and irrational."
Clara's face hardened. "So the Steel types are bullying them? That's not fair. We should go back there and drive the Skarmory away so these guys can go home!"
She reached for her Treecko's Poké Ball, ready for a crusade.
"Wait, Clara," I stopped her, shaking my head. "It's not that simple. As trainers, we are prohibited from interfering in natural territorial disputes. If a Skarmory flock naturally takes over a dune, that's survival of the fittest. If we attack them just to help the 'cuter' or 'nicer' Pokémon, we disrupt the balance of nature even more."
Clara's shoulders slumped, her excitement extinguishing instantly. She looked at the huddled Trapinch we had saved, disappointment written all over her face. "So... we just leave them here? Crowded and starving? That feels wrong, Stephen."
I looked at the Flygon, who had landed on a high perch and was watching our debate. It seemed uncomfortable in this cramped space, its wings twitching.
"I said we can't interrupt a natural dispute," I corrected gently. "But if my theory is right, and there is a magnetic anomaly driving the Steel types crazy... then the cause isn't natural. It might be artificial."
I turned to Clara, offering a smile. "We don't fight the Pokémon. We find the factor that is influencing them. If we remove the source of the magnetic irritation, the Skarmory and Magneton should calm down and return to their normal behavior. Then, these Pokémon can go home."
Clara's eyes lit up again, the determination rushing back. "We fix the root cause! That's... that's a brilliant solution! No fighting the victims, just fixing the problem." She quickly adjusted her belt, checking her supplies. "I'm ready. Let's find this magnetic ghost."
I turned toward the Flygon. It was the alpha here, the guardian of this displaced group.
"Flygon," I called out, stepping forward with open hands to show I meant no harm. "We want to help. We suspect something is hurting the Steel types, making them attack you. But we are strangers to this desert. We don't know the land."
The Flygon tilted its head, its antennae vibrating as it processed my tone. I pointed to the west, back toward the deep desert.
"You know this land," I continued. "You know where the Skarmory came from, and you can sense the disturbance better than we can. If you show us where the feeling is strongest, we can try to stop it."
The Flygon let out a sharp cry, then looked down at the younger Trapinch huddled below. It seemed to weigh the risk. Finally, it nodded. It launched itself into the air, hovering just above us.
It spun around and pointed a clawed hand toward the Northwest—toward a jagged range of rocky formations that jutted out of the sand like broken teeth.
"That way?" I asked.
The Flygon chattered affirmatively. It flew a short circle, indicating it would lead the way, but at a speed we could follow on the ground.